


Better than Malibu

by OhhMyy



Series: Coming Back To Life. [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Body Image, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Mild Language, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhhMyy/pseuds/OhhMyy
Summary: A beach break is just what the team needs, the only enemies they face are themselves. Bucky is a sad potato, Sam Wilson is a flirt, all men know how to grill, apparently.Get-together fic. Can be read as a one shot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I gone done a happy (ish) chapter.

“I am man. I play with fire. Cook meat for tiny women” Charlie laughs voice deep and hands on her hips as she walks over to the barbeque; Steve laughs and continues flipping burgers on the grill; overseen by Tony, Clint, Sam and Bruce who tut occasionally and comment on the task at hand as if flipping a piece of meat were a lab experiment (despite the fact that Wanda, Vision and Thor have done most of the preparation outside of grilling; laying the table, preparing buns, salads and various condiments). She looks at the food in contemplation.

“Yep, looks like meat to me” She pokes Tony in the side playfully and he swats his hand in her direction without looking up.

“You’re so funny. Go and annoy someone else”

“Tony, you wound me. You are my favourite person to annoy” She wanders up behind him and wraps her arms around his bare waist, locking her hands and squeezing hard; Tony squirms and sucks in a deep breath to make his stomach smaller before turning, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her from the ground in a fireman’s lift effortlessly as she kicks and twists in a vain attempt at freedom.

Tony’s invitation to the group to join him at his beach house at The Keys (to christen it, he’d said, after spending the past year having it built to replace his Malibu home) had been enthusiastically accepted by all; a welcome holiday from the stress of the city, the incoming frost on mainland and a chance to fly privately in Tony’s jet was one of the better offers they’d had this year. The invitation coincided with the knowledge that someone, or everyone, would be thrown into the pool by someone else at some point and that belonging to a group of people who behaved largely like children would mean that happened sooner rather than later. Thor, Wanda and Natasha had jumped in the water instantly so the fun of pushing them in was lessened, more so by Thors insistence that someone _try_ to push him than his watered state, but the rest of them were dry and therefore fair game.

“No! No! Stark put me down, I love you, I’m sorry” She squeals but his grip is tight as he walks her over to the edge before throwing her in with a splash; the men at the grill clap loudly and Thor booms a thunderous laugh from his deck chair; even Natasha’s lip quirks as she watches the display from her seat on the edge of the pool; feet dangling into the water as her hair dries in the midday sun. Charlie goes under, coming up a second later with wet hair sticking to her face; her floral summer dress now sodden and clinging to her.

Wanda is smiling but she rushes to the side of the pool with a towel in her hand, holding it out as she watches Charlie climb up the ladder and out.

“You alright there, Kid? You look a bit peeved”

She takes the towel from Wanda with thanks and watches as the other woman skips (she skips; the girl who has been to hell and back and then to hell and back again has a hop in her step and the joy Charlie feels at that is a little overwhelming) back over to Vision, plonking herself beside him on the sun lounger with a kiss.

“I am too wet to think of a comeback” She moans, drying her face before fluffing the towel in her hair.

“That’s what she said” Chimes Clint and holds his hand up to high five Sam. Bruce rolls his eyes before insisting to Steve that the food is cooked; Steve, ever dutiful, lifts the burgers from grill to plate with a spatula and calls out to the group that “Grub’s up”. He looks over to Charlie and raises an eyebrow, mouthing a question about the location of Bucky; she shrugs her shoulders in response and wraps the towel around her sopping wet dress.

“I’m going to go change” She says it loud enough for the group to hear but directs it towards Steve, trying to make it clear she’ll find him, he shoots her an appreciative smile and dishes out plates to the (surprisingly) orderly queue of superheroes that has formed in front of him.


	2. Chapter 2

She wanders the house, feeling a little guilty about dripping on the pristine floors, until she finds Bucky. He’s sitting on the bed he’s claimed with his head down; fully clothed and holding a pair of shorts in one hand. His feet are bare; she guesses this is his only concession to getting changed. She wanders slowly into the room; gently raising a brow at him when he looks up.

“You alright, Bucky?”

He nods but sighs before tossing his head from side to side in contemplation and pursing his lips. He clutches the shorts tighter between his fingers.

“Not really Doll”

She sits with a squelch on the single bed opposite him, the one Steve had claimed and momentarily admires how the bed is neatly made, an obvious distinction between his side of the room and Bucky’s in terms of tidiness. Her heart aches at the pain swimming behind his eyes.

“What’s going on in your head James?”

He waves the pair of shorts around vaguely as if trying to communicate wordlessly. She bites her tongue to keep quips at bay, ‘yes dear, those are shorts’ would hardly be appropriate to throw at a moping super soldier.

“There’s a difference between everyone seeing the arm and seeing the scars that go with it. I can’t lay by the pool fully dressed and nobody wants to see that shit” His answer is terse, brusque, and full of self-deprecation. She lets herself gather her thoughts before talking, wary of saying the wrong thing.

“We all have scars Bucky and we’re your friends, nobody is going to care. Natasha has bullet wounds and she’s out there in a bikini looking as gorgeous as ever. You don’t think Clint’s littered with scars or Steve, Vision is literally red and even he’s in shorts. Tony has a metal plate in his chest and he’s parading around like a Victoria Secret model!”

He laughs in response, fully imagining that image which also makes him want to grimace; doubts Tony would have any shame even if his whole body was metal. He considers her words carefully, gripping the shorts a little tighter.

“And what about you, Doll? I’m assuming you were the first to get dunked but you’re covered as ever” He doesn’t mean to but he knows it comes out like an accusation, calling her a hypocrite without using the term.

She gulps audibly. He has a point and she knows it. She closes her eyes, silence dredging the seconds as she thinks; knows that unlike the last time she were this forward with him there’s no alcohol in her system to make her brave. Both are assuming the other has forgotten their games night encounter; or worse that the other regrets it, they have been noticeably distant over the past weeks and she can feel her fingers trembling as she makes a decision.

She stands, dropping the towel to the floor and it lands with a soft squelching thud at her feet. He’s suddenly watching her like a hawk and she moves her hands slowly to the hem of her dress and lifts, pulling it up and over her head steadily as the damp fabric clings to her skin and the skimpy bikini underneath. He stands from his perch on instinct, stepping closer before he can think the idea through. She drops the dress on top of the towel and rotates her shoulders back, calming her breathing as he looks her over. He takes in the shimmer on her skin, small droplets of water flow from her hair and down her body, trailing over pert breasts concealed by triangles of brown fabric. She is toned, lithe and has the body of a dancer but her hips are full; thighs bigger than he’d first thought but he’s seen the shapely muscles in them hold her in positions he _very_ fondly remembers.

They are stock still as the seconds tick by in silence, his eyes having flicked back up to hers, noting the vulnerability behind them; knows how much effort this is for her and is, once again, amazed by this woman who seems to put her own fears and concerns second to the people she loves.

His pupils are dilated but there’s wariness in his eyes and stiffness in his posture as he reaches out a hand, lays it on the curve of her hip with a feather light touch before tracing his fleshy fingertips lightly over the long, raised scar across her hip bone; it’s longer than he’d imagined (and he has imagined, so many times has he imaged. Even in his fantasies she has the details he knows about her, perfect in her flaws and he’s tried to picture the details of that scar more than once as he’s moaned out her name) about an inch wide and running upwards from the inside of her hip bone all the way around the side and stopping just before the dip in her spine. She makes a conscious effort not to move under his touch, ignores the inherent urge to flinch away, cover up and hide. The scar doesn’t hurt, has long since healed, but she can still hear the crack of the belt slicing through air like it was yesterday.

He traces his hand upwards, running over the taught skin of her stomach, stopping at the circular burns (4 that he can see, knows they come from cigarettes and he fights to urge to clench his fists) on her ribcage and strokes over them with his thumb as she lifts a hand to the collar of his shirt, laying her fingers over the fabric where she knows warm flesh meets metal. She keeps them there for a moment before trailing her fingers down, nails catching slightly on the cotton of his shirt; she stops them at the hem, fiddles her fingers in the rough stitching nervously.

“Do you think less of me because of my scars?” Her tone is low and wary; she trusts him but she can’t help but worry his answer will be yes, that despite his gentle touch and tender gaze she will soon be met with repentance and mumbled excuses as he realises she is damaged.

“You’re beautiful” There is such certainty in his words that she loses her breath, he is not flattering, he has no agenda, he simply thinks she is beautiful and the truth behind the statement almost makes her cry. She closes her eyes against the onslaught of emotion and when she opens them he is looking at her quizzically. She meets his gaze with steely determination.

“Take the shirt off James”

Her fingers curl and lace themselves underneath his shirt, knuckles grazing against the bare skin of his stomach. He shivers and she tugs softly but she doesn’t pull until he gives her a nod. She pulls the shirt up and he raises both arms slowly to offer her assistance, dropping them to his sides with tension streaming through his body. She looks him in the eyes before trailing her own green orbs downwards, runs her tongue across her lips purposefully as she takes him in, admiring him openly before her vision meets the jagged red scar joining his chest and arm. She takes a deep breath, moves her eyes purposefully back up to his, and makes him watch her movements.

She places her lips against her own finger tips in a kiss and raises them to the blemish that runs along his skin, trailing her fingers down and along it before smiling at him.

“Come outside me with, I promise not to throw you in the pool” she says it gently, encouragingly, hopes to convey that everything will be fine but the situation suddenly feels too intimate for friends and she’s not sure that even after this she can handle the rejection she thinks is coming. Knows in her head there is a difference between the flirting, the friendship they have and any chance he would want her; beautiful or not.

He nods, squashing his urge to say something as she tears her eyes away from his, and takes the shorts into the bathroom to change whilst she picks up the damp clothes from the floor and holds them in her arms. He opens the door and steps out and she tracks her eyes down his body, appreciating his strong legs and the dark hair covering them. He smirks at her and just like that the old Bucky is back. Charlie skirts around him, dumping the wet soggy stack into the bath and telling herself she’ll deal with it later before walking out. He finds his place next to her and his metal arm comes around her back; resting his hand against her scarred hip gently as they walk.


	3. Chapter 3

He’s greeted warmly when they walk outside, nobody so much as looking at his arm. Steve throws a towel over and he catches it, taking his other hand from Charlie’s hip to wrap it around his shoulders, heading over to the barbeque to inspect the meat (because all men, she has come to the conclusion, are experts at grilling. You can be frozen in the ice for 70 years but you’ll still be, obviously, inherently better at flipping burgers than your female counterparts). She wanders over to Steve with the intention of grabbing her own towel, pulling him in for a brief one armed hug and whispering in his ear that Bucky is fine.

She hears a loud whistle and turns to see Sam wiggling his brows at her, making a point of licking his lips slowly and she rolls her eyes at him. She hears Steve tut under his breath and then chuckle and she smirks as Sam folds his arms in front of his chest and trails his eyes playfully over her. She sees Bucky glare out of the corner of her eyes and makes a point of twirling for Sam, shaking her hips in his direction only to raise a middle finger as she turns back around.

“Damn girl.” Sam laughs, smacking a hand against his knee.

Bucky watches fondly from his place next to the grill as she flips Sam off, raising a middle finger in his direction but keeping a smile on her face. She shoots the group a smile and a small wave before she turns towards the water, running and jumping into the pool with an excited yell, dive bombing to drench Natasha who is trying to get the Asgardian God onto a very small pool float; pushing at his legs to try and squeeze him onto it. Natasha turns and sticks her tongue out, half glaring half smirking before wiping the water away from her eyes and splashing back at her before pulling Thor into various positions in an attempt to get the float not to sink under his weight.

Tony, Clint and Steve are still eating and she wonders how many burgers each of them have consumed whilst she’s been gone. Bruce, her fellow vegetarian, eats salad from a fork and has unbuttoned his white shirt down to the middle, dark chest hair on show; not including post-transformation accidents this is the least dressed he’s been seen in a while and she shoots him a grin and a full arm wave as he chomps away. Wanda is lying on her lounger, face down in an attempt to tan her back and Charlie wonders if she knows Vision has been staring at her ass for at least the past five minutes.

She notices Bucky watching her intently and raises a challenging brow, arms stretched out wide as her hands beckon him forward from her position in the middle of the pool.

“Come on Barnes, scared of a little water?”

He moves forward, walking down the marble steps and into the water slowly, smirk on his lips. He’s got her pinned with his eyes, doesn’t break eye contact once as he heads towards her and she blanks out her surroundings to focus on him, gulping in a sharp breath of air as he stares at her like prey. He stops just in front of her and holds still for a minute, eyes locked on her and he leans in; she thinks for a brief moment he’s going to close the gap between them. Her heart rate picks up and he licks his lips devilishly at her before quickly lifting his arm, putting a hand on her head and dunking her under the water.

“Bucky, you ass!” She screams as she surfaces, but she’s laughing; always laughing. She swipes a leg forward and twists it around the back of his knees, forcing him to bend and bringing him down with a splash into the pool, wiping the smug look from his face. He grabs her around the waist after popping back out, lifting her from the bottom of the pool as he beams; she’s splashing water at his face with her hands, feet scrambling for purchase on the floor despite being a good few feet from the ground. She wraps her legs around his hips, still splashing and bends backwards using the strength of her toned dancers’ body to pull him in with her.

She comes to the top, panting for breath as he stands, water dripping slowly down his chest, and runs a hand through his hair; moving it from his eyes and slicking it back and _holy shit_ she thinks he looks like all of her fantasies come to life. She paddles over to him, having landed further away than intended, and wraps her arms around his shoulders as he lifts her into him slightly with one arm back around her waist, her feet tip toeing on the ground.

“I’m drenched, you bastard” She’s laughing but she says it quietly, hands gripping for purchase over his shoulders as the water makes her slip, she wraps one arm all the way around, hand resting on the side of his neck. She leans into him for stability, still panting and her chest rests against his close to his collarbone; he can’t help but notice her breasts pressing on his chest, nipples hardened from the cold water. She slips in his grip slightly and he drops her down a few inches so she can touch the floor but his arms stay around her waist, unwilling to let go. She tips her head back, shaking some of the water from it and he watches beads drip down her chest, disappearing between her cleavage before she lifts her head back up close to his; close enough to feel his heavy breath against her.  

“Oh yeah and I’m dry as a bone” He presses a kiss unthinkingly into her wet hair as she rests her forehead in the juncture of his neck to catch her breath, closing her eyes to savour the moment. He presses his lips to her hair again, seemingly realising what he’s done, and she raises her head and turns it slightly to look him in the eyes sheepishly and full of question.

“James?”

He flicks his eyes down to her lips and back up and she mirrors his actions a second later. He leans in, pauses briefly to give her the option of backing out and presses his lips against hers gently when she doesn’t. He feels her respond instantly, increasing the pressure. Her lips move against his as his hand grips her hip. He intends to pull away but her tongue runs along his bottom lip as she presses her body closer. He opens for her, tongue reaching out for hers with no hesitation, stroking comfortingly before her leg lifts around his hip and the kiss becomes rougher, there’s passion burning underneath the tentativeness; weeks if not months of hesitation finally coming to a head as a floodgate of tension breaks. He lifts her other leg with his metal hand, gripping tightly as his pelvis comes into line with hers, she moans into his mouth; water making her practically weightless.

They’re both brought back to earth when cold water gushes over their heads. They pull apart quickly, her legs dropping back to the pool floor, to see Tony standing at the edge of the bool with an empty bucket in hand and a cheeky grin on his face. Natasha whistles at them in the background and Charlie’s face becomes bright red. She buries her head against his chest laughing and he flips Tony off.

“Get a room, children!”

“No, no, don’t get a room; I’m sharing with her, that’s my room. My room.” Natasha yells from her position on the sun lounger but she’s laughing and shooting Bucky a wink. Bucky runs his thumb tenderly over the scar on her hip, unwilling to let her go this time, as the group laugh amongst themselves, going back to their discussion; he notices Bruce smiling warmly in their direction before the scientist takes a sip of his drink and turns to berate Tony for being a monumental ass.

She moves her head to the side on his chest; eyes still closed but he glances down and sees a warm grin tugging at her lips. He presses a chaste kiss to the top of her head and she peeps her eyes open and flicks them up to his face.

“Definitely better when I’m sober” She smirks, bringing a hand to run through the back of his sodden hair, relishing in the way his eyes shutter closed.

“Yeah?” He asks, suddenly nervous. She brings him in to press a fleeting kiss to his lips, hopes to convey this is not a one time thing.

“Yeah" 


End file.
